Welcome to the BSC, Abby

by Ann M. Martin

“One ticket for the girl wearing the food,” Kristy sang out.

  I rolled my eyes, grabbed my ticket, and bumped my way around the ring.

  It was great. Fabulous.

  I jumped out of the bumper car, all charged up. “Thanks!” I called to Kristy, and took off again.

  I saw people painting clown faces on kids, and jugglers and mimes from the nearby college theater department. Kids were playing Go Fish at one booth and musical chairs at another.

  Then I followed a huge line to … Elvira.

  No doubt about it, she was one of the big hits of the carnival. She stood there in all her glory, smiling her goat smile for the camera while kids flung their arms around her neck and patted her head and kissed her ears. She was wearing a red collar and what looked like a leash that was fastened to a stake in the ground just inside the portable pen. Behind her, so that it would be visible in every photograph, was a sign that said, “Elvira supports the arts program carnival.” Mrs. Stone was sitting on an old milking stool in the background, smiling, while Mrs. Arnold helped the twins take pictures and collect money.

  I thought about having my picture taken with Elvira, but decided I’d wait.

  I passed many, many people wearing the BSC art pins. (I was wearing one myself — you know which one.) I bought a fortune at the Kormans’ booth from Druscilla. She read it aloud for me: “Amazing things will happen.”

  “They already have,” I told her. She was giggling as I left.

  And at the Pikes’ booth, I wasn’t at all surprised to see Adam, Jordan, Byron, and Margo doing a brisk business, and wearing price stickers themselves!

  I was still laughing when I returned to my booth.

  Mal had frosting on the end of her nose. Jessi was wearing about a bowlful of icing with crumbs on the front of her apron.

  The table was crowded with kids making cupcakes and more were waiting on line.

  I stood behind the counter again and told Mal and Jessi about the booths I’d seen. They hung out for a little while longer, and decorated cupcakes of their own. Then they took off.

  But I wasn’t on my own long. Before the evening was over, I’d seen every single member of the BSC, and they’d all given me breaks from my booth. Once, I traded off and helped out at the BSC booth.

  The cupcakes ran out just before closing time.

  I was a success.

  And so was the carnival.

  With Kristy in charge, you are never on time.

  You are early.

  So naturally we arrived at the carnival Bright And Early the next morning. For soccer, I will drag my unhappy body from the bed at any hour. Stagger across a frozen, muddy field in the freezing wind at dawn to defeat the enemy. Arrive at the game hours earlier just to check out the field.

  I would have said that would be the only way you’d get me to look at the early side of Saturday morning. Especially after Anna and I’d spent what seemed to be the entire night baking cupcakes, taking the last batch out of the oven just as Mom was dragging her weary self home from the office.

  I would have been wrong. Fortunately, Anna is an early riser and she knew the plan. So she hauled my unconscious body out of bed, propped me up over the cereal, and prodded me along until we were both ready when Kristy leaned on the front doorbell at the crack of dawn.

  Okay, not that early, but you get the idea.

  I was on BSC booth duty with Kristy first thing that morning. Anna was in charge of our booth. Mom had gone into the city to work, but she was going to catch the 12:45 train and be back in Stoneybrook by 3:00 to do her time with us in the afternoon.

  I helped Anna lug the cupcakes and fresh supplies of icing and toppings to the booth, told her what I’d learned from booth duty the night before, warned her against the perils of whipped cream in a can, and went off to join Kristy.

  Kristy had five pins stuck on her sweatshirt and six more on her collie cap.

  “I guess you’re not hard to pin down,” I said.

  Kristy gave a snort of laughter. “That’s terrible,” she replied. Then she shoved a basket of pins at me. “Decorate yourself,” she ordered.

  Who am I to argue with Kristy Thomas? I decorated.

  The morning crowd was quieter than the crowd the night before. A lot of the adults were moving along in a sleepy way behind little kids who were zooming around like pinballs. The pins were not a big selling item in this crowd, although Mr. Papadakis’s mood soared from weary to delighted when the pin he bought turned out to have earned him five hours of free baby-sitting.

  He pinned it proudly on his jacket and pocketed the certificate we’d written up. “Look at that, Sari!” he said to his daughter, who was in her stroller. “Let’s go get some orange juice to celebrate.”

  “Juice,” agreed Sari.

  “Then can we go see Elvira, Dad?” asked Linny.

  “Puleeeeese,” begged Hannie.

  Kristy and I looked at each other and laughed.

  Kristy was working a double shift at the booth. Stacey came to take my place and I went back to check on Anna.

  I am ashamed to admit what I saw, but I saw it. With my own eyes.

  Fortunately, no one was around since it was still so early.

  Just as I reached the booth, Anna squirted Shannon right in the apron with whipped cream. Shannon shrieked, then wiped the whipped cream off and flung it back at Anna.

  “Hey!” I shouted, running toward them.

  They both jumped like guilty little kids. Then they looked at each other and started howling with laughter.

  “S-sorry,” gasped Anna. “It’s just that Shannon said she’d never been in a food fight before and I …” She started laughing again.

  “Never been in a food fight? Does your lunchroom serve edible food or something?” I asked.

  Shannon made a tremendous effort and managed to stop laughing. “No. Is that what you’re supposed to do with the mystery meat?”

  “It’s one idea,” I said.

  “Let’s go ride some rides,” suggested Anna, untying her apron.

  “Okay,” said Shannon.

  “We’ll be right back,” Anna promised. I waved good-bye to them and served a few breakfast cupcakes to kids with indulgent parents. I wished I’d thought to make coffee and have hot tea. More people might have bought cupcakes as breakfast food, adults at least. Kids had no problem with cupcakes for breakfast.

  Anna returned after leaving Shannon at the BSC booth. I decided I needed a soda. The crowds were starting to pick up — it was almost one o’clock — so I told Anna I’d be right back.

  The soda booth guy had just handed me my soda and my change when a voice on the radio behind him said, “We interrupt this program for an important announcement.”

  I didn’t pay much attention. Newspeople are always getting hysterical about things such as presidential hairdos. Then as I turned away, someone in line said, “You know, those trains are usually so reliable. I wonder what caused the twelve forty-five to derail like that?”

  My heart stopped. “The twelve forty-five from where?” I interrupted the two people urgently.

  “New York,” one of the men said. “It gets here at two thirty-four. Only I guess it won’t today.”

  I whirled around. “Turn up the radio!” I practically shouted. “My mother was on that train!”

  The guy in the booth turned quickly and raised the volume on the radio.

  “… from New York, which pulled out of the station and then, shortly thereafter, derailed. Police officers, medical personnel, and firefighters are on the scene. There was a small fire but it is now under control. The extent of injuries are unknown, although we have seen several people removed from the scene on stretchers. No fatalities have yet been reported.”

  “Mom,” I whispered. I put the soda down gently on the edge of the booth. “Thank you. That’s all I want.”

  “I’m sure your mother will be all right,” the soda man assured me.

  “Do you need any help?” asked one of
the people in line behind me.

  I shook my head. Maybe Mom hadn’t left her office yet, I thought. She probably forgot about her train. Yeah, that’s it. She forgot. She’s always forgetting what time it is.

  By some miracle, the first pay phone I found was free. I dropped the change in with trembling fingers.

  A voice I didn’t recognize answered the phone at my mother’s office.

  “Mrs. Stevenson? Oh, she left almost two hours ago. Said she had a very important date. May I take a message?”

  “No, thank you,” I whispered. I hung up the phone.

  I leaned against the phone for a few moments, trying not to throw up. When I looked up again, I was dizzy.

  Stay calm, I told myself. Find Anna.

  I hurried back to our booth and pulled Anna aside. I told her what had happened.

  “You called the office,” she repeated, just to make sure.

  “She’d already left,” I said again. “She told them she had an important date.”

  By unspoken agreement, we began closing up the booth. Then we headed off to find Kristy and tell her the news. Maybe someone in her family could give us a ride to the local train station. They might know more there.

  At the BSC booth we learned that Kristy had gone with her mother to take Karen and David Michael on the bumper cars.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Claudia.

  “Can’t stop now,” I gasped. “We’ll explain later.”

  We hurried toward the bumper cars. As we pushed through the crowd I could hear myself starting to wheeze.

  “Kristy!” said Anna, grabbing her by the arm as she came out of the bumper car ride.

  I fished in my pocket for my inhaler. I held it to my lips and took a deep breath.

  “Oh, no!” cried Kristy, running to me. “Another asthma attack?”

  The inhaler almost always works if you use it in time. It worked fine this time. I took another breath from it, then folded it up and put it away.

  “No,” I said. I took a deep, slow breath. I forced myself to be calm. “No.”

  “You’re okay?” asked Kristy.

  “Yes!” I said impatiently.

  “It’s Mom,” Anna burst out. “There’s been a train derailment and it was her train.”

  “I called her office when we heard about it,” I explained. “They said she left. And I know the train she was planning on taking was the twelve forty-five.”

  Kristy’s mother hurried over to us. “Charlie told me. Come on. We’ll drive to the station and see if they know anything there.”

  Kristy said, “I’ll get on the phones here. We can take turns calling when we’re not at our booth. Your booth is closed?”

  Anna and I nodded. “We left the money at the BSC booth,” I said.

  “Fine,” replied Kristy briskly. “We’ll meet back at the BSC booth. And we’ll take care of your booth. Don’t worry, guys.”

  “Thanks, Kristy,” I said.

  But when we reached the train station, no one was at the ticket window. Closed Saturdays, the sign at the window read.

  We called the local police from the train station, but they didn’t know anything. Then Mrs. Brewer phoned the local newspaper and the local news station. We also called the railroad line.

  No one knew more than what we’d already heard.

  “They’d know by now if there were any really serious injuries,” said Kristy’s mother reassuringly as we returned to the car. She didn’t add, “or fatalities.”

  But that’s what I was thinking.

  By six o’clock, we were pretty sure no one had been killed. But that was about all we knew. We’d stayed at the carnival because that’s where we were supposed to meet Mom. But Mrs. Brewer had driven back to our house and left a note on our door about where we were, just in case.

  “Mom has a cellular phone,” I said. “Why hasn’t she called? She could use it to call from the train.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason,” said Anna.

  Or a bad one, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut.

  Like zombies, Anna and I packed up the stuff from our booth. All around us people were laughing and talking and having a great time. The carnival was at its peak.

  We carried the coolers to Mr. Brewer’s car. We were about to turn around to retrieve the rest of the stuff when I heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

  Our mother’s voice, calling our names.

  “Abby! Anna! Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”

  We shrieked like crazy people. There was Mom, running across the parking lot, her scarf flying, her briefcase banging against her leg. I honestly didn’t know Mom could run that fast.

  Anna and I covered some ground pretty fast, too. It’s a wonder the three of us crashing together didn’t cause a minor earthquake.

  We almost fell over from the impact.

  “What about you? We thought you were dead!”

  “Where were you?” cried Anna. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Oh, Abby. Oh, Anna.” Mom squeezed each of us hard, and gave us a kiss. Normally I would have pulled away. But this was not a normal time.

  “Well,” I demanded. “What happened?”

  “You’re not hurt, are you?” asked Anna.

  “No, no,” said Mom. “It wasn’t my train …”

  “But they said you’d left your office …”

  “There were two trains,” explained Mom. “Because of the crowds heading out of town for leaf season. I got stuck on the second train. And it got stuck in the tunnel behind the train that derailed. We couldn’t get out of the train and the cellular phones didn’t work in the tunnel. But I had forgotten mine, anyway. For a while, the lights didn’t work either.”

  “How awful,” gasped Anna. “To be trapped in the tunnel in the dark.”

  Mom’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “It was pretty bad. But not as bad as being on the derailed train. Anyway, after hours and hours, they evacuated us. We had to walk back to the station. And then they finally put us on a bus, and of course the bus had to make a million stops.”

  She heaved a deep sigh. “I knew you’d be worried. But I didn’t know how to reach you.”

  “Well, you’re here now. That’s what’s important,” I said.

  Mom hugged us again, then straightened up. Mr. Brewer patted her on the shoulder. “They’ve been very calm and brave,” he said.

  “Let’s go home,” said Anna.

  “Home?” Mom’s smile was shaky, but her eyes were shiny with enthusiasm as well as unshed tears. “I came to work in a carnival and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “You better believe it,” Mom said. “Come on.”

  So the Cupcake Lady was back in business — only this time there were three of us. Somehow, none of us wanted to go wandering around the carnival without the others.

  Kristy and Mary Anne came over and gave us a break so we could show Mom the sights. And, okay, so we could have our photograph taken with Elvira.

  But we spent most of the rest of the carnival in our booth. The Cupcake Family. Can you believe it?

  And it was pretty sweet.

  “Shannon says she heard the carnival was so successful that people are saying they should make it an annual event. She says people already want to sign up for booths for next year,” Anna said, hanging up the phone.

  It was Sunday evening. The carnival had closed late that afternoon. We’d spent the rest of Saturday evening at our booth, then stayed up most of Saturday night baking cupcakes and cakes. I showed Mom how I made the piano cake. And she and Anna and I had designed and made a three-layer cake that looked like an artist’s palette. Pretty cool. Pretty delicious, too.

  We had had fun. Just plain fun.

  And I was tired. Just plain wiped out.

  We were finishing a late dinner of what Mom called Sandwich Du Jour. That means “sandwich of the day” and it means that anything in the refrigerator is fair game. I was actuall
y eating chicken dogs that I had nuked in the microwave, with baked beans and mustard mixed together.

  Anna finished her sandwich and said, “Cupcakes, anyone?”

  “Ugh!” I groaned.

  Mom said, “I’m not worried. I happen to know we sold every last one.”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “It was Abby’s idea,” said Anna, “to make fancy cakes and the cupcakes for the kids to decorate. Fingerpaint food.”

  “Brilliant,” said Mom.

  “You gave me the idea,” I said. “Or, I guess, those did.” I pointed to the shining copper molds that were lining the space above the cabinets in our kitchen.

  Mom looked up. “Oh! You know, I meant to tell you how good those looked up there. I hadn’t seen or thought about them in years.”

  “Yeah,” I said dryly. “And that’s not all.”

  Anna knew where I was headed. She joined in. “Yup. We’ve unpacked all the cartons now. All of them.”

  “Except one,” I added. “There’s one more in the attic…. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “I’ll clear the table,” said Anna.

  Leaving Mom looking puzzled, I bounded up the stairs to the attic and returned as quickly as possible holding the box with our father’s things in it.

  I didn’t think our mother recognized it even then.

  “We, ah, found this with all the other boxes,” I said. I set it down on the empty table. Anna cut the masking tape we’d sealed the box with such a short time before.

  Did she smell Dad’s cologne before we opened the box? She might have, because her face changed. For one instant it looked soft and young and smiling, the way I remembered Mom from when we were kids.

  From when Dad was still alive.

  But then the moment passed and she drew her breath in sharply and closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart as if to protect it.

  “It’s Dad’s stuff,” said Anna. “All kinds of things. Special things…. We thought you gave away all his stuff when he, when the accident happened.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked.

  Mom didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Then she slowly opened her eyes and they filled with tears. Huge, silent tears that spilled over and fell down her cheeks.